


promise

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fingering, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11491002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: Drift gets tested.





	promise

**Author's Note:**

> There's not really anything to say about this. Me and Zig constantly talk about this but don't write it nearly enough, so??

Drift braces his hand against Megatron’s thigh, spreading his legs a little further open as the other bot’s hands roam across his chassis. They chase languidly along his sides, up and down his thighs, over his chest and abdomen, and the heat all pools at Drift’s core. He offlines his optics and shifts subtly back into Megatron, grounding himself against the larger mech’s frame, and catches his hands. He feels the tense warning in Megatron’s field, and with a thrum of rebelliousness in his own spark, guides them across his thighs, reaching his knees and pulling them back in, angling them towards his rapidly heating paneling.

Megatron only allows himself to be directed so far, and stops short even as Drift lets his over-eager panel snap open, exposing his glossy valve. He whines slightly, wriggling his hips towards Megatron’s fingers, which play dangerously close to his valve, but not on it. “Hey,” he chides quietly, frustrated by the teasing. “Come on, you said.”

There’s a deep rumbling of Megatron’s engine that sounds like acknowledgment, but there’s also the indication there that he knows what he’s doing. He reaches his other hand up and pins Drift’s midsection against his body so he can’t move as easily. Drift makes a soft noise of disappointment. His valve is already leaking and throbbing with want, if only Megatron would touch him. He reaches out with his field, kindly, innocently. Submissively, asking, pleading. He can feel the response in his thighs and fuel tank, pressing into him from the bottom up to be patient. He draws in a vent and grips Megatron’s thigh harder, sighing softly when Megatron kisses the top of his helm in promise.

A finger trails up from the base of his valve to skirt across his node. The contact is nearly imagined and Drift leaks more, shuddering. He utters a small sob which turns into a howling moan when Megatron suddenly flattens his fingers against his valve, rubbing just slightly up and down, in small circular motions, pressing against the mesh thick with sensors that sets his fans off at a high thrum. “ _ Megatron _ ,” Drift wails, only to be shushed.

The hand around his other middle is firm. “Quiet.” Drift swallows another noise, choking up hot air inside him as his system threaten to vaporize themselves from pleasure. The stroke of Megatron’s thumb against his side has him gasping out again, roughly panting, but not making any other sounds. Megatron’s fingers still work him at the basest of levels, rubbing him open rather than stretching him, giving his node only passing attention. His fingers are coated already in Drift’s excessive lubricant.

“Good,” Megatron murmurs quietly. Drift nods, distracted, nudging his legs apart further as Megatron’s outside fingers nestle into either side of his valve. A third presses his opening further apart and Drift swallows yet another noise as Megatron eases a single finger into him, slowly, but at a steady pace, as deep as it’ll go. His engine is roaring and he can’t help a little mewl of pleasure at how good it feels. The thumb against his side is soft and gentle, another coaxing acknowledgement that he’s doing well so far, though he feels like he’s dying. His calipers seize around Megatron’s thick finger, trying to urge it to the point of friction, but he barely moves it, just a little way in, a little way out, rolling gently around the sides of him. 

“Oh…” Drift sighs so softly, his frame drooling shamefully around Megatron’s digit. He twists the top portion of his body that he can move, trying to get a better grip to exert his frustration onto the table. He reboots his vocalizer, once, twice, with Megatron’s finger just lazily twitching inside him. “Megatron, please... _ please _ .” 

“Drift,” Megatron’s voice is low and quiet, his field static with disapproval. “I told you to keep quiet.” He draws his hand back from Drift’s valve and traces his fingers across his lips, smearing lubricant across them. Drift’s valve twitches unpleasantly, but he eagerly accepts Megatron’s fingers into his mouth, stifling his voice as he sucks the thick coating of himself off of them. He thinks he might overload at any second, just from this, with a painful lack of stimulation but driven entirely by want and a few scraps of touch. 

But with his mouth occupied, Megatron’s other hand slips down off his middle between his legs. He thrusts another finger into him, and this time doesn’t try to stop Drift as he squeezes his hips up and over it. He makes the softest moans he can as he licks Megatron’s hand clean, letting his fingers settle along his throat as he withdraws them, far too focused on finally getting any amount of friction on his valve. 

Drift moves wildly, but Megatron keeps his hand relatively steady, supporting Drift’s weight with his wrist. He draws his fingers, now wet with Drift’s saliva rather than his lubricants, around his neck, though they merely rest there as a warning. He still slightly, just enough for Megatron to work another finger into him, thick alongside its brother, now pushing deeper and wider into him. Drift vents forcefully, working his hips as hard as he dares to thrust back down. He could come from this now, really, if he let himself; but he’s holding out for more. Megatron’s fingers already stroke so thickly inside him, scissoring along a spread of his nodes, harshly pulling against him on the withdraw to send him into another fit of shivers. 

Megatron does add that third finger, though, screwing them all deep into him and thrusting with a new kind of vigor that makes Drift’s processor ache over the struggle of being quiet. He’s gasping out clouds of heat, twisting wildly down onto Megatron’s hand. The hand fondling his neck wanders down and steadies his hips by gripping his body in such a way that he can get a firm, consistent fingertip against his node. Drift wails, unable to restrain himself any longer. “Oh,  _ Megatron, yes _ , frag,  _ frag yes _ , oh please…” 

Megatron’s hand fucks so steadily into him he feels like his valve is melting, his whole frame is melting, his node whole core is twisting up from the contact on his node and the explosions of pleasure inside him.

Drift spills, twitching and seizing against Megatron’s fingers, which continue to drill into him with the same fervency and pace until he’s shaking from the overstimulation. Even this, he takes, enjoying the raw tingle of his body as the aftershocks fade and the solid weight of Megatron behind him. He lets his fans spin out and his vents come slower and more evenly, clutching Megatron’s arm around his body as the other mech holds him to his steady frame.


End file.
